


The Worst Man To Ever Live.

by DrawingJournalist



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 00:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14008206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrawingJournalist/pseuds/DrawingJournalist
Summary: And so.. So many fell in love with him.Hamilton is poly, but he doesn't know how to handle his new discovery about himself and ends up destroying everyone's lives. In the process however, he manages to bring people together to make longer stories than the one his life can tell.





	The Worst Man To Ever Live.

**Author's Note:**

> vent.
> 
> a lot of information isnt true.  
> this is a work of fiction.
> 
> Major trigger warning:  
> Suicide  
> Hinted-Rape  
> Homophobia  
> ...
> 
> LAST WARNING. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE SUICIDE. PLEASE.
> 
> IM BEGGING YOU, PLEASE DONT READ THIS IF YOU DONT THINK YOU CAN STOMACH IT.  
> I will try to provide with some new fluffy and happy stories after this if you decide to proceed.

An inspiration.

A shoulder to cry on.

A man that would never leave your corner.

These were the few things that many described Hamilton to be. Though, there were many bittersweet undertones to them.

An inspiration can do one wrong thing and ruin their reputation. They can influence people to do and feel things they should have never experienced. They can hold someone's reputation in the palms of their hands and drop it with no hesitation. They can make you wish you were never born.

A shoulder to cry on always has a face and a life of their own. They can twist your words and use them against you. They can gain your full respect and trust, only to leave you on the side of the road with no way to get home. They can make you regret every tear you shed.

A man that promised to never leave your corner can always lie. That man can lie, lie, lie. Who cares if you both got drinks together every week. He doesn't. He doesn't care if you spill your drink on you shirt or if someone slipped a pill into it. That man can make you think he cares. That man can whisper sweet nothings to you as you choke out your last sobs, but he will never comfort you again after he moves on to ruin another person's life.

These descriptions came to be when a sad man by the name of Alexander Hamilton came to New York City. 

Hamilton walked those streets as if he owned them. Like he had purpose. But he knew that no one, of importance at least, would ever remember his name. New York City was just another city, just like how a quick fuck was like any other fuck.

Why was Hamilton in the city where he can "become a new man" then?

To put it simply, he wanted to see his wife and children again. He was there to "become a new man." Eliza made sure to check up on Alexander every once and a while to make sure he hadn't been kidnapped and raped while he was out drunk in the middle of the streets of the dark and cruel world. Hamilton saw that as an act done out of forgiveness, which he deeply appreciated. It kept him alive on the days he pressed his pen as hard as he could on the veins on his wrists without popping them.  

There wasn't only Eliza's reassuring voice keeping him as alive as he could get but his burning passion for arts as well. Hamilton wrote like his callused fingers didn't burn like hot lava. He didn't think in his head, he wrote it All down. His words ranging from his worst moods to moments he felt as if he was on cloud 9.

Hamilton admired art pieces in museums as well as online. He could get lost in a single painting for hours without end. The only thing paying for his tickets were his many hours checked in at the local bars and clubs. He tried his best to get into a collage, but none accepted him in seeing his father's crippling debt that he left Hamilton. 

The sad man, the poor sad man, never believed that he deserved any of This. He believed others did however. So he was a heartbreaker by the ripe age of nineteen. 

At the same age, he owned his first gun... that was illegal of course. Gun shops never let him buy one because of his concerning hospital records. So, he looked towards gun shows and private sellers. They never did background checks.

Hamilton never thought he'd ever really need it. That was until the Incident.

He was hanging out in the Mulligan's house when he got a call from his cousin. The call was as peaceful as a mother's voice singing her baby to sleep. "Finally, a distraction," Hamilton thought. He thought that he could flee from the feeling of loneliness. There was a large hole in his heart, that place reserved his family. A family that he never thought he could have again.

The call went a little like this:

 

 "Hey Hammy!! How's life been bangin' ya?" Their accent came off a little thick. 

"Absolutely perfect. My wife and I are living domesticly with our children, only one could dream," Hamilton lied.

He was actually having, surprise, another affair. This time, he was snogging his foster brother. Even though he was an adult, he stil had the habit of calling his housemates as his fosters. Hercules Mulligan was his name. 

Hercules' smooth, warm, strong hands made Hamilton beg. Hercules could have him anytime he wanted, if his house was empty. And boy, did Hamilton indulge in bending over to take a pounding. Just before the call, Hercules was leaving dark hickeys on the orphan and marking his ass with red handprints.

"A wife huh? Call her name," the cousin cooed.

"Elizabeth, or Eliza for short. You should come up to New York City to visit sometime. I would love to catch up in person," Hamilton said warmly. His heart raced and ached as he recalled the soft memories of his wife and sunny memories of spending time with his kids in the city. 

"Of course, I miss you," They confessed. They chatted on the phone for what seemed like hours. But it wasn't enough to distract the cousin. Everytime they went silent on the line for more than three seconds, Alexander asked if everything was alright. "Yes I'm fine, just got distracted," They reassured.

...Everyone knows that anyone blood related to Hamilton was a liar. 

As Hamilton rambled on about how good life was treating him, his cousin was debating whether or not to jump off the chair or break their veins just like Hamilton often wanted to.

"It would be cruel to do this now," his cousin thought to himself.

So they jumped off of the chair without the rope complimenting the scene. They set aside the blade into the nightstand for later hours.

In the morning, Hamilton felt refreshed after talking with something- someone he's wanted since his mother's death. His bubbly mood throws off Hercules, but he's refreshed as well seeing that "his" Hamilton is is enthusiastic.

The refreshed feeling doesn't last for long. Hamilton was in his room, writing about whatever came to mind before he had to officially start his day. He was disrupted by a call from his cousin, not unwelcomed.

"Good morning-" Hamilton begins cheerfully but is interrupted with a dull voice.

"I'm sorry. I can't take this anymore, Alexander. I'm sorry but everything is going wrong. I don't want to be here anymore. No one cares, that's why you're the one I called. I don't have anyone close to me. The loneliness is too much I'm so sorry please-" They sobbed.

"What." Hamilton muttered in shock.

He forced himself to talk, "No, please don't. Just breathe.. okay?"

What the hell was he doing. Hamilton didn't have a clue what to do. That was the reason he blamed himself for the death of his, probably, last family he could ever have. What was he doing...

Words were passed back and forth, but none to convince his cousin to calm down.

One second, they were crying into the phone speaker. The next, the phone was falling to the floor.

"Agh-" They choked.

Seven long minutes of torture.

Hamilton felt sick. He heard every second of their death. Although he wasn't there to witness it, his imagination did the rest for him.

He imagined them reaching to save themselves for the first few seconds.. Their nails scratch at their throat and the rope. Butterflies fill Hamilton's stomach.

He imagined the blood draining from their face and purple recolouring them. It was a less frightening image, as he did watch as his own mother died holding him.

He imagined how it felt. The adrenaline before jumping, the unstoppable force pushing against the veins around his neck, the dopamine leaving from his head to make the scene much more painful for those seven long minutes.

Hamilton sat there and listened. HE LISTENED. NOT A SINGLE THOUGHT IN HIS MIND THOUGHT TO CALL THE POLICE. His subconscious yelled at him, but he refused to listen. Instead, he listened to their pleads and screams with his undivided attention.

After those seven long minutes, Hamilton realized what had just happened. He didn't crash. Not Yet.

He wanted to call the police, but he was reassured that the situation was taken care of when he heard a door open and, yet again, another scream. Hamilton hung up like his life depended on it.

Hamilton opted his options on how to be comforted before he leaves his state of shock. He thought about calling Eliza, but he threw his phone across the room because of the burn it gave in his hand. He thought about calling John Laurens, but he was probably busy with his boyfriend and he would never want to interfere in John's chance to finally be happy. He thought about crawling into bed with Hercules, but he didn't want the innocent boy to be dragged into another situation.

Finally. Hamilton thought of the heavy, silver object hiding in his closet. He began to shake, panicking. What the hell was he doing. "I could end all of the pain right here and now," he thought. Hamilton chuckled for no particular reason and stood up, digging through his closet.

He rummaged through it patiently at first, then he began to lose his temper. "I can't find it," he says with a blank emotion. Clearly, Hamilton was full of rage and frustration. "I Can't Find It," he says a bit louder and with more frustration.

After a minute of restlessly searching, he found it. Hamilton smiled, filled with fake joy. He loaded it with no rest, relentlessly. His hands trembled, his cheeks were warm and wet, his smile was held for too long and began to strain. 

Cocking the gun, he held it under his chin and relief flushed through him. He didn't feel the adrenaline he imagined earlier. Relief. That's all that Hamilton wanted, sexually or not. Relief. He wanted his family to be relieved of debt. Relief. He wanted his mother to be relieved of sickness. Relief.

The tears began to stop, and Hamilton puts his finger on the trigger. "Come on.... do it already," he tries to persuade himself. 

Hamilton closed his eyes, his smile softening. Finally. Relief.

He teases the trigger.

 

"HAMILTON!" 

He's frightened and drops the gun out of surprise when a booming voice calls his name and warm arms are wrapped around him.

When he realizes who it is, Hamilton melts. In love? Of course not. But Hercules never managed to fail to make Hamilton putting in his hands. "What were you thinking," Hercules whispers into his ear, voice trembling with affection and fear.

Blank. Hamilton's mind couldn't keep up with time, still in shock. All he knows is that his gun is lying on the floor in the middle of his closet, his cousin is dead and its His fault, and that Hercules has him. Hercules had layed Hamilton in his room on his bed. He couldn't bare to be any closer to the thing that could have taken his love's life. 

Thankfully, Herc doesn't interrogate Hamilton on the spot. He just holds him on his bed with warm, gentle arms. Hamilton's nose is pressed up against his chest. And though Hamilton's breathing wasn't at all stable, it wasn't as frantic as it was before. 

Hercules ran his hands along Alexander's back and sides, whispering sweet nothings in hope that it would calm Hamilton down. It does.

Hamilton was still in a state of shock; however, he still began silently crying. Tears stained Hercules sweatshirt, but he didn't mind. 

The scene was funny in its own way. Hercules, who in love with one of the Worst man on the planet, was comforting Hamilton even though he had a feeling that heartbreak lingered near. Hamilton, who was Not in love with one of the most gentle of men on the planet, was enjoying the temporary company even though he felt the loneliness that his cousin felt coursing through his blood. 

"Do you want to tell me why you have a gun," Hercules whispered with both concern and with a threatening tone.

Hamilton nodded a no. Not Yet.

"Then do you want to tell me what led you to um...," he trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

Again, Hamilton nodded a no.

"Do you want to talk at all?"

What more was there to say. Hamilton's dream of being apart of a family again was dead. Literally dead. They were dead and he did nothing to stop it. There was nothing he could have done, but he kept on telling himself that he's a Hamilton. Hamiltons can do the impossible, and he failed to do  the simple task of saving his own blood. He cheated on his wife, and he was pushed out of the house. He neglected his children once his career took off, and they began to resent him. 

Hamilton confessed to John Laurens and Aaron Burr in the same month. He wanted more. He wanted his wife and his children. He wanted his Laurens and Aaron. He wanted Mulligan and Lafayette. He wanted Jefferson and Washington. He wanted Maria and Angelica. Hamilton wanted love, hell he practically thrives on love he doesn't return. He just eats it all up. Hamilton wanted purpose, so he went out to make his name known whether it was in an office or in a strip club. Hamilton wanted a family. Alexander was a greedy man. A sad greedy man.

What more.. What more could there be said other than that Alexander Hamilton is the saddest man walking.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry... its sad boi hours.
> 
> um so the suicide part wasnt about me. i just wanted to add some More to the story and why Hamilton tries to draw his gun to himself;;
> 
> also I'm poly so some of my feels are in here oops
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!  
> I'll be writing more fluffy things i promise :)


End file.
